


And the Rest is Drag

by friendo



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Drag Queens, F/F, F/M, Falling In Love, Happy Ending, Humor, M/M, excessive time spent in gay bars, more tags to come
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-25
Updated: 2018-04-06
Packaged: 2019-03-23 20:29:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13795731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/friendo/pseuds/friendo
Summary: "So... you're Viktoriya Lyubova.”Viktor nods again, smiling."And you are… are you...” Yuuri sighs, and gestures weakly at Chris, “are you someone too?”Chris’ eyebrows shoot up. “Someone? Of course I’m someone. I’m Lady Messterpants!”“Ugh,” Yuuri says aloud without meaning to.A drag queen asks Yuuri to make a dress. What he gets in return is far more than just a bank transfer.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> The title comes from the Ru Paul quote "You're all born naked and the rest is drag." No, don't worry, there will be no RPDR jokes (even if it is a great show)!
> 
> Drag is fascinating! YOI is great! Let's smoosh these two together and see what happens!!!
> 
> This is the prologue, so it's a little different from the other chapters. Chapter 1 will be coming soon!
> 
> n/b - listening to the songs is highly recommended! you want to feel like you really saw viktor perform in drag? click the link!

 

As he rounds the corner, Yuuri's ears catch a faint  _thump thump_ of music and his nose a whiff of cigarette smoke. 

“I think it’s close,” Phichit says distractedly. He’s trailing a few paces behind Yuuri, too busy scrolling furiously through Google Maps to keep up.

Yuuri nods, even though he knows he can’t see it. 

His breath billows out in front of him in clouds, and Yuuri shoves his hands deeper into his jacket pockets for warmth. If they have to walk much further he’ll tell Phichit to call it off. Yuuri knows he'll be sad, but it’s freezing and he doesn’t want him to get sick just because it’s Yuuri’s birthday. 

He does his best to make out the shop fronts through the dim street lighting. There’s a bar at the end, crammed between an Iraqi bakery and an old hardware store. Yuuri’s sure he could have walked past it in the daytime and never even noticed it. A few smokers loiter around the entrance and a bright white neon sign hangs above the door in loopy cursive writing. If he squints a little harder, he can even make out the words:

 

LA MAISON DE LA GLACE

 

“Is this the place?” Yuuri asks, pointing at the building.

Phichit looks up from his phone.

“Yes!” he gasps, elated. “Oh my gosh, I’m so happy we made it in time!” Phichit grabs Yuuri’s arm and rushes them forward. Yuuri almost trips when his heel skids on a patch of ice.

“Wait! Slow down!”

Suddenly they’re inside, IDs checked, tickets bought, hands stamped and standing by the bar waiting for their first drink of the night. The staff zip up and down the bar, pouring drink after drink with a practiced ease. Phichit is ordering for both of them, so Yuuri has a chance to stare up at the shelves and shelves of fancy alcohol in elegant bottles that line the wall in front of them.

There's neon strip lighting on each shelf. The fluorescent blue bounces off of the white painted brick walls and bathes the entire bar in a cool glow. A chandelier bounces specks of blue light all around the room.

Yuuri wonders if this bar is above their price range. He quickly scans the rest of the room.

The walls are lined with booths and tables. All of them are full and bustling, but he can't make out a word of conversation over the DJ's music blasting from a far corner of the bar, where a dark figure sits hunched behind a laptop angled away from everyone else. The people standing in the centre of the room occasionally call out requests to him, and yell when the DJ relents and chooses to play a pop anthem.

There’s a sense of anticipation in the air that gets Yuuri a little excited, and when he turns to Phichit he smiles and thanks him for dragging him out even if he hadn't been the most enthusiastic about the idea at first.

“No problem, bro,” Phichit says and hands him three shots of vodka.

They stand for a bit, dance for a bit (the DJ ignores all of their requests), and in no time at all they are back at the bar. This time Yuuri’s buying them cocktails. The prices are not too bad, to his surprise.

“Want to grab a seat?” he asks, trying to balance an overfull martini glass in his hands without it spilling. It seems like the most logical option to Yuuri, whose feet are still hurting from the long trek here and who does not want to be left standing at the back when the show starts.

A pale beam points at a low stage next to the DJ booth, skimming over the few rows of chairs neatly arranged in front of it. Luxurious red curtains trimmed with gold fringe rest on the stage. They’re pulled firmly shut, and Yuuri can imagine tonight’s performers frantically making last minute preparations backstage.

Phichit nods vigorously. A few groups are already sitting, and he lets Phichit lead them to a couple of seats behind the front row.

“Isn’t this a bit close to the front?” Yuuri asks.

“No, it’s better at the front. We’ve got some good seats!” Phichit smiles knowingly. Yuuri’s not sure what exactly it is that Phichit knows, but that might be because he’s a little tipsy right now. He watches in alarm as Phichit swallows half of his cocktail in one gulp.

“So.” Phichit waggles his eyebrows. “It’s your first time in a place like this. Do you have any questions?”

"Don't baby me," Yuuri grumbles. "I've been to gay bars before."

Phichit snorts. "For like, five minutes in total you mean."

Yuuri is about to make a retort until Phichit raises an eyebrow and he promptly snaps his mouth shut.

Yuuri likes to drink; there's no denying that in light of the biweekly drinking sessions that he and Phichit attend in the bedrooms of their college friends on rotation. Well, to be more accurate, their tightly knit group of friends and the occasional rando that Phichit meets through his habit of striking up conversations with the people next to him in line at Starbucks.

He doesn't even mind bars that much. It can be fun (very rarely) to go out (very rarely) and be surrounded by people and lively conversation (every three months when Yuuri feels like it). Indulging in sugary, calorific cocktails is just an added bonus. It's more that, at gay bars, he is much more likely to have men standing entirely too close to him or trying to harass him, whereas at a straight bar he generally doesn't have any trouble if he avoids making eye contact with women for more than a few seconds.

To be honest, Yuuri had only agreed to come out tonight because Phichit had been talking about it for weeks.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Yuuri says, hasty to change the subject to something else, "but I do have a question. What do you have in your pockets?”

Phichit’s jacket pockets are bulging outwards with something that he had refused to explain when Yuuri had asked back in their apartment.

Phichit gasps. “Very good Yuuri! I forgot about that. I need to give you another part of your present!”

He reaches inside one of them with his free hand and pulls out a fist full of crumpled up dollar bills. Yuuri wordlessly accepts a handful when Phichit shoves the bills towards him.

“Really? Just money? Am I that hard to buy presents for?”

“You  _are_ hard to buy presents for, and don’t be ungrateful. I bought you the ticket didn’t I?” Phichit pouts. He folds up the rest of the money and shoves it back into his pocket. “It’s so we can tip the queens.”

“I thought they only did that for strippers.”

Phichit rolls his eyes. “You really haven’t been to a drag show before, have you?”

“Jeez, I’m sorry. There aren’t a lot of drag queens in Hasetsu,” Yuuri deadpans. He had barely known of their existence before Phichit had announced very proudly where they would be going for his birthday.

“Hey, that’s a business opportunity," Phichit says eagerly, always quick as a whistle. "Ever thought of drag shows at the onsen? I mean, I’ve only seen pictures of your Dad but I feel like he could pull off a glamorous lady look if he wanted to.”

Yuuri almost spits out his drink.

By the time he’s finished his cocktail,  all of the seats have filled up, leaving the rest of the audience to stand behind them in a disorganised crowd. Yuuri and Phichit’s conversation pauses as the house lights dim and the DJ slowly fades out the music, leaving only the thrum of lively conversation from the other bargoers to fill the silence.

“Is it starting?” Yuuri asks curiously.

“Yes!” Phichit stage whispers. “Lady Messterpants is up first!”

“Lady what?” Yuuri asks, eyes on the stage when he notices a flicker of movement in the curtains. The audience hoots appreciatively.

A deep, monotonous voice booms through the speakers. It's the DJ. He's still in his booth, fixing the audience with a solemn, unmoving stare as he speaks into his microphone.

"This is DJ 02Bass. The first half of tonight is over, so it's time for me to introduce our main show. Ladies, gentlemen and others, please welcome our first queen to the stage."

The audience whoops, and Yuuri's eyes track the movements of the DJ as he switches off his microphone and sits back in his seat. He's got dark hair and dark eyes, and he's wearing a leather jacket despite the warmth that is produced by cramming this many people into one room and the high probability that the heating is on at maximum.

Yuuri leans towards Phichit. "Hey," he says into his friend's ear, "don't you think that the DJ is really handso--"

“Wait wait wait, she’s coming!” Phichit squeals.

The heavy red curtains shift once, twice, three times before they are flung open. Yuuri and Phichit straighten up to get a better look, as if they don't already have one of the best views in the bar.

A beautiful woman struts on stage in huge platform heels with a microphone in one manicured hand.

She looks larger than life. Every feature is exaggerated; huge pouty lips pulled into a flirty smirk, heavily lashed eyes glittering under a thick layer of garish purple eyeshadow and high, angular eyebrows that remind Yuuri of the wings of a small bird. Her fluffy brown and blonde hair is teased into something resembling a lion’s mane, and as she twirls in centre stage her galaxy body-con dress sparkles and flashes under the light.

Her waist -- cinched in with a retro 70s belt -- is tiny, but what Yuuri really can’t take his eyes off of is her massive butt.

“That’s a man?” Yuuri exclaims to Phichit, but his voice is lost as the crowd goes wild.

He can't help but stare. Including the heels, she's at least two feet taller than any woman that Yuuri's ever met.

People stand up as they applaud the newcomer to the stage. Yuuri flinches violently when someone behind him screams. He’s glad he finished his drink.

“NICE ASS!” Phichit shouts, waving a five dollar bill in the air. He nudges Yuuri. “Cheer her on, it’s polite!”

Spurred on by his friend, Yuuri whoops loudly as the queen approaches the first row, reaching out to take tips and hold people’s hands. Phichit looks starstruck when she takes his with a wink. She drifts right past Yuuri, leaving a childish part of him feeling a sting of rejection . When she reaches the middle of the stage, she strikes a pose with a hand on her hip.

“Hello darlings. How are you tonight?” she purrs when the noise dies down a little.

The crowd whoops in response and the queen laughs.

“So happy to hear that! I hear we have a lot of newcomers tonight, so let me introduce myself.” She raises her arm with a flourish. “I am Lady Messterpants!”

Another loud cheer. It’s obvious that most of the people in the audience have been taking full advantage of the two-for-one cocktail deal tonight.

“And make some noise for my other queens waiting backstage! They’re getting ready to perform for you so I’m out here to buy them a bit more time. Girl’s gotta earn her coin somehow.”

The audience cheers again as Lady searches the crowd, walking up and down the stage with a pronounced waggle of her hips.

“Hey darling.”  Suddenly she’s in front of Yuuri, and he feels his eyes bug out of his skull. Yuuri tries to calm himself down when he realises she’s speaking to the woman in front of him. Lady holds out the microphone.

“I LOVE YOU,” the woman cries, heavy breathing crackling into the microphone as she thrusts money into Lady’s free hand.

“Oh, I love you too, darling. I just want to say that your bleach job is amazing! So natural!” She pats her own hair mournfully. “No matter hard I try I just can’t get these brown roots to go.”  Lady gives the audience a shit-eating grin. “Then again, I don’t think there’s anything remotely natural about me.”

The audience laughs raucously.

“It’s time for a La Maison tradition. Some assistance, please!”

Yuuri’s eyes are drawn to movement at the corner of the stage.  A slim red-haired woman in a neatly tucked black shirt and dark jeans slips out of the shadows holding two tumblers half filled with clear liquid. Yuuri recognises her as one of the bartenders. She moves to stand next to Lady Messterpants, smiling sweetly at the audience. She tilts her head in acknowledgement at the applause she receives. Although she might be average height, or a little over it, standing next to the drag queen makes her look absolutely tiny.

“Thank you,” the queen says shortly.

She takes a glass and downs it in one go.

The pure unbridled delight the audience gains from this makes Yuuri wonder if he is the soberest person in the room. The queen doesn’t even blink. The woman takes the empty glass and quickly replaces it with the second glass.

Lady Messterpants raises it towards the audience.

“What should I drink to?”

A cacophony of yelling. The woman looks completely unphased. She probably has to do this every night, Yuuri thinks.

Lady Messterpants moves closer to the edge of the stage and peers at each volunteer, humming and ahhing with a dramatically placed hand to her cheek when people yell out suggestions.

“IT’S MY BIRTHDAY!” Phichit screams. He stands up from his seat and waves his money around Yuuri as if trying to waft the queen into Yuuri’s direction. It looks so ridiculous that Yuuri can't stop himself from laughing.

His laughter stops when the queen turns towards them, and Phichit immediately sits down with a wicked grin that Yuuri will never forgive him for.

“Birthday?” Lady Messterpants crows delightedly, looking around. “Did I just hear birthday? Who said that?”  

Lady makes an immediate beeline towards Yuuri, who realises that Phichit is now pointing at him with a vigorous stabbing motion.

“Was that you?” Lady Messterpants asks Yuuri.

“Um,” he says. He wonders if he should give her the five dollar bill he is crushing between his hands in a sudden fit of terror. Shakily, he holds it out towards her.

“You’re the birthday boy? You’re pretty cute,” Lady coos. She’s bending over, the liquid sloshing around dangerously in its glass as she holds the microphone towards him, so close that Yuuri can see all eight pairs of her fake eyelashes. “What’s your name?”

“I—Uh—You’re beautiful,” Yuuri stutters, and feels himself freeze up. He’d blurted out the first thing that had come to his head, and Yuuri immediately flushes bright red. It’s true though. She’s like a beautiful, beautiful clown. “I mean, Yuuri!”

Lady Messterpants seems very amused.

“Yuuri.” She draws out the name,  rolls it over her tongue. The queen nods slowly. “Hmmm, I like it. You seem like a troublemaker. I'll have to keep my eye on you.”

With the hand holding the microphone, she reaches over and plucks the dollar bill from Yuuri’s hand with a wink. The audience titters at their exchange and despite his embarrassment Yuuri is grinning from the adrenaline coursing through his body.

Lady Messterpants floats back into the centre of the stage and lifts the glass once more.

“To birthdays!” she cries, then knocks her head back and downs the second glass.

Next to him, Phichit guffaws loudly and claps Yuuri on the shoulder. He glares back. The audience is so loud that Yuuri almost doesn’t notice it when the woman from before seems to teleport in front of him.

“Here, for you! It's a birthday shot!” she shouts over the noise. She presses another glass of clear liquid into Yuuri’s hands. She’s standing in front of the first row, leaning through a gap between two people to hand it to him.

“What is it?” he asks, bewildered.

“Vodka!” she says, grinning, and runs off again, disappearing into the darker areas of the bar once more.

Yuuri stares down at the glass and wonders if he should trust her.

“DRINK!” shrieks Phichit, on his right.

“DRINK!” shout all of the people in his immediate vicinity.

Yuuri decides to do the shot, coughing only a little as it burns down his throat. If it's not vodka, it's probably some paint stripper she'd found in a back room somewhere. Either way, it's not expensive. The audience is cheering again. Lady Messterpants is off harassing someone else in the crowd.

“How many people are ready for the next girl?” Lady calls out after taking a few more victims.

The audience whoops.

“This next queen coming up is known for serving passion and emotion. She’s a little weird, a little crazy and sometimes she’s just plain stupid.” She juts out a hip and raises her free hand with a flourish. “Give it up for Princess Alyonka!”

Lady Messterpants basks in the applause for a few moments before she waves and sashays off stage.

“So they usually do comedy?” Yuuri asks Phichit when the applause dies down a little.

“Drag queens do all sorts. They’re like… performers. Or artists? Or both. It’s up to them.” Phichit shrugs. “Lady Messterpants is a comedy queen. I heard she even lip-syncs sometimes. The next two will be lip-syncing I think?”

"How do you know?"

"I read the flyer. I sent it to you too, you know," Phichit grumbles. 

Yuuri rolls his eyes. He's a busy man and doesn't have time to read  _all_ of the stuff Phichit sends him. It's just a dumb drag show. They cheer as the next queen saunters onto the stage.   

Yuuri feels like this queen's look is a tad less polished than the previous queen's.

Her tiny crown is what Yuuri notices at first. The top half of her dress is pale blue and shimmery, but the white silk bardot neckline is showing off her wider shoulders in a not entirely flattering way, her foundation is way too pale for her face, and if he squints Yuuri thinks he can spot some dark hair mixing in with the hairline of her pale blonde wig.

There's also another problem. The way that she’s styled her hair reminds Yuuri of something that he just can’t put his finger on.

“Good evening everyone!” the queen greets the audience in a breathy Russian accent. If she's putting it on, Yuuri's impressed. She’s practically hopping with excitement and the silvery tutu around her waist bounces with each step she takes in her delicate white heels. When she reaches centre stage, she curtsies, lifting her tutu daintily. “I am Princess Alyonka.”

The crowd cheers and the queen accepts it graciously, bringing her microphone to her lips.

“I will be performing a song today that is very dear to my heart,” she says sincerely. “It has inspired me many times to let go of my past and find new love.”

The audience dies down as Princess Alyonka places the microphone to the side and slowly moves into her starting position. She wraps her arms around herself. Her face is calm.

[A familiar piano melody ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=moSFlvxnbgk)plays through the speakers and the spotlight turns blue.

Suddenly Yuuri feels Phichit grip his shoulder with almost bruising strength.

“What?” he yelps.

Phichit’s eyes are wide, mouth drawn into a tight line. On the stage, Princess Alyonka begins to lip sync.

 

_The snow glows white on the mountain tonight, not a footprint to be seen…_

 

“No,” Yuuri whispers, horrified. Behind them, a bachelorette party screams so loudly that he can barely hear the next line.

 

_A kingdom of isolation, and it looks like I’m the queen…_

 

Princess Alyonka is swaying with the beat. Yuuri realises that he knows where he’s seen that hair before.

“Yuuri,” Phichit whispers into his ear, voice pained. “I can’t do this.”

 

_Don't let them in don't let them see_

_Be the big girl you always had to be_

 

As the song continues, more and more people begin to sing along. Yuuri doesn't know the words and Phichit is laughing so hard that he’s not making any sounds, so he just sits there, a little horrified at how much Princess Alyonka's makeup is smearing as tears begin to stream down her face.

There's so much passion in her movements that Yuuri can almost see each pillar of ice being raised from the ground with each powerful gesture.

 

_The cold never bothered me anyway._

 

Princess Alyonka reaches into the front of her dress and pulls out a handful of styrofoam balls. With a flourish, she flings it towards the audience and strikes a powerful pose, hand still in the air and trembling with intensity.

The crowd, yet again, goes wild.

“Was that supposed to be snow?” Yuuri asks, shaking the little white balls from his hair. He watches the drag queen bow and collect her tips.

Phichit looks like he is wiping away tears. For a moment Yuuri is worried he’s having a breakdown.

“That was amazing!” Phichit’s voice is high and shaky. Yuuri can’t help but agree. They both hold out tips for Princess Alyonka to take.

She blows kisses to both of them, murmuring  _thank you_ and  _spasibo_ as she takes their money. The queen picks up the microphone again.

“Thank you so much, everyone, you are so kind!” Her voice is wobbly with emotion. “I must go now, but let me welcome back our wonderful host, Lady Messterpants.”

At the mention of her name, Lady Messterpants strides back on stage. She joins her in the centre of the stage and holds out an arm to present Princess Alyonka to the audience once more.

“Thank you! Let’s give a hand to Princess Alyonka everybody! Ice princesses are always a guest of honour at La Maison de la Glace!”

With a tearful wave and several more curtsies, Princess Alyonka skips off stage microphone in hand to a chorus of drunken yelling and cheering. 

“Well, it’s time to introduce our next queen on the stage,” Lady Messterpants continues. “You may have heard of this queen before. She’s pretty, she’s Russian. She’s exactly the kind of girl you want to meet on a street corner in the middle of the night. It’s Viktoriya Lyubova!”

At the mention of the next queen, the crowd cheers loudly.  

“Oooh! That’s loud! Make sure she can hear you!” With a big grin, she runs off stage, the curtain flapping behind her.

“Is Viktoriya good?” Yuuri asks Phichit, who is cheering with them. He has to shout to make sure he’s heard.

“Super popular!" his friend shouts back.

The lights shift into something warmer. The cheers of the crowd morph into a chant.

 

VIKTORIYA, VIKTORIYA, VIKTORIYA!

 

Yuuri sits up when one of the curtains shifts a little. He sees an elegant gold heel, a shapely calf and a slim, smooth thigh peek out from behind the curtain. The heel rests on the stage, relaxed, the spotlight reflecting off of it and bouncing flashes of light around the room. People are screaming, some already holding out tips. Yuuri looks around incredulously.

Through the speakers, [a song begins to play ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pSaipQjL5T0).

A slow seductive bass melody fills the room. The leg seems to elongate until Viktoriya Lyubova finally steps on stage.

Under the stage lights she is radiant and unearthly. Her figure is taller and more boyish than the other queens and her face is striking, deep blue eyes framed by fluffy lashes and smooth, airbrushed skin. With her lips painted delicately in pink, Viktoriya looks like a doll.

“Wow,” he whispers.

“Wow,” Phichit agrees. “She’s painted  _the house down_.”

Yuuri is too entranced by the queen to ask him what that means.  The song begins to pick up as she strides into centre stage.

Viktoriya’s dress is long and flowing, layers of purple and shimmery gold. It’s sleeveless, with a deep plunge neckline and a high slit on the side. As she twirls her hair is a shimmering curtain of silver, shifting and catching the light. Her hands land on her hips and she shimmies them to the beat, a small smile on her lips.

 

_Postcards from Amsterdam_

_Phone-calls from Birmingham_

_To tell me only how you miss me_

 

She stalks towards the audience, crooning the words to those holding out tips for her before taking the bills and spinning away to start the next verse.

 

_Received your telegram_

_Now you say: Here I am_

_Oh, the way you hold and kiss me_

 

Viktoriya mimes the words, moving her arms around herself with painful slowness. The queen glides across the stage, hair and dress fanning out behind her. Yuuri and Phichit hold out their own dollar bills but with so many people doing the same they are ignored, the more insistent patrons grabbing Viktoriya’s attention. Her hands are full of money, and after a while she has to dump it at the back of the stage before leaping back into the middle as the chorus begins.

 

_Darling, Darling, Darling_

_Leave a little love for later on_

 

Viktoriya flings out her hands and twirls, twirls, twirls. The crowd cheers. She dances as if she is lost in the music, her expression pinched in concentration as she throws herself into the next verse.

 

_Darling, Darling, Darling_

_So that you can come back when you’re gone_

_I idolize your magic eyes_

_And I imagine all the good things we can do_

 

She’s crouched low to the ground, a mere metre away from Yuuri, singing to an intoxicated looking young man in the front row holding a dollar bill. She takes it and blows him a kiss before she twirls away.

Viktoriya continues to lip-sync with the chorus while she scans the audience, looking for another person to play with.

“VIKTORIYA!” Phichit shrieks, waving his dollar bill in the air.

“No!” Yuuri immediately hisses. Not again! He feels a rush of panic when Viktoriya swivels in the direction of his voice and skips towards them, Phichit craning forward so she can reach him more easily. In one fluid motion Viktoriya sinks to the ground and, to Yuuri’s shock, takes the paper note in her teeth.

Then she's up again, dancing a solo tango across the stage with the money still hanging from her mouth like a very flat and slightly crumpled rose. The crowd loves it. 

“Oh my God!” Phichit gushes, jumping up and down in his seat. He’s flushed with excitement.

Yuuri, heart still pounding, is only a little bit jealous that she didn't do the same with this.

As the performance goes on, some people try to play with her, holding out money for her to take but pulling it back at the last second as if expecting her to chase for it. But Viktoriya is above that. She continues her performance with the air of someone who knows that all eyes are on her and that it’s exactly where they should be.

The song fades out, giving way once more to the cheers of the crowd as Viktoriya comes out of a spin, arms open wide and chest heaving. She’s soaking in the applause, and she looks like she’s loving it. The crowd roars with approval and Viktoriya is grinning from ear to ear as she takes a bow. As she does a final round of the stage to collect her tips, people shout compliments and she replies with sincere thanks, even hugging back the few that are daring enough to try.

She takes Yuuri’s note this time around, and she smiles at him as she does it. Her perfume smells like roses, he realises dazedly.

The curtains behind Viktoriya part as Lady Messterpants strolls back on stage. The crowd whoops and Lady starts fanning herself.

“Wasn’t she amazing?” Lady Messterpants squawks.

The audience cheers an affirmative, and Viktoriya throws back her head and laughs with all the poise and grace of a Russian  _printcessa._

“ _Spasiba_ ,” she says, bright blue eyes glittering under the stage lights. She reaches up to brush her slightly dishevelled hair from her face. The lights illuminate the fine hairs on the crown of her head, making her look like a huge high heeled angel.

Yuuri thinks that she has an accent too, just the barest hint of one. Maybe Russian as well, but he's terrible at things like this.

“This is our last queen for tonight,” Lady Messterpants says mournfully, to immediate booing and _aww_ s from the audience.

“LIP SYNC!” a man in the back shouts.

Viktoriya laughs and Lady’s bottom lip quivers as she mimes wiping away a tear.

“Ah,” Lady gasps, “to think you miss my pole dancing that much!”

Yuuri almost misses it, but he thinks he sees Viktoriya roll her eyes a little. She opens her mouth and looks like she’s going to say something witty until Princess Alyonka bursts through the curtains. She skids to a stop between Messterpants and Viktoriya, almost tripping over her heels and into the front row. Her wig is slightly crooked, but she looks mostly presentable.

The audience begins to shout and applauds as all three queens join hands in a line, bowing in unison.

“Thank you, everyone!” Lady Messterpants shouts over the applause. “Thank you for coming to see me and these two lovely girls perform for you tonight. It’s time for us to get some beauty sleep, so for now…” She puts her hand to her mouth and blows a quick kiss. “We’ll see you at the next show!”

The cheers and applause become deafening as the queens, beaming, catwalk off of the stage, blowing kisses and waving wildly before they disappear behind the curtains.

After a few moments, the spotlight slowly dims, leaving only the soft blue glow of the neon lighting to illuminate the bar once more.

The applause dies quickly as people start to get up to dust themselves off, and a rush of people head back to the bar while many stand around or return to the booths. The bachelorette party is having a very loud and noisy discussion in one corner about booking a limousine. The conversation feels even louder than it had before until the DJ starts up the music again, drowning it all out with heavy bass and skittering electronic melodies.

Yuuri watches it all from his seat and doesn't say a thing. He blinks at the empty stage in the semi-darkness and is not sure what to say. Phichit’s sitting slumped in his seat too, face still a little flushed. He’s watching Yuuri with a self-satisfied expression.

“How did you like your birthday present, Yuuri?”

“This was the most exciting birthday present anyone’s ever given me,” Yuuri says, pulling Phichit into a hug. He’s always more affectionate when he’s a bit drunk. His friend immediately wraps his arms around him in return. Yes, he is kind of sweaty right now but, well, so is Phichit.

Yuuri's not lying. Seeing the performers so close up had been absolutely thrilling, and the comedy had had him laughing in a way he hadn't done for a while. Yuuri thinks that maybe it's changed him, and that he'd love to see a show with his sister one day. He's sure she'd get a kick out of it.

When he feels a dull ache in his temples he realises that these thoughts may just be the vodka speaking and that he should probably down a few glasses of water before thinking about saying any of this out loud.  

Phichit pats his back reverently.

“And I have many more presents to give you,” he says wisely. “But you’ll have to wait. I can’t spoil my best boy too much.”

They get some tap water from the bar and sit together in a free booth. Phichit explains to Yuuri that the queens usually come out to say hello afterwards and does he want to wait a little longer before heading back? 

"No, let's go back to the apartment," Yuuri says, and stands up from the booth to stretch his legs. "I feel like anyone who decides to perform on stage like that must be absolutely terrifying."

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I don’t trust you at all, Phichit.”
> 
> Phichit shrugs and snuggles back into Yuuri’s pile of blankets. “Fair enough.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter has haunted me for months. it's been knocking around in my basement and making weird noises. so happy to kick it out of the house so i can get some peace and quiet!!!
> 
> so sorry for this taking so long!! uni was crazy and i kept staring at the google doc and didn't know how to make it perfect! i'm happy with it now so i hope you enjoy <3

Phichit has the top bunk, Yuuri the bottom. Yuuri doesn't mind it at all.

 _It’s for boring cry babies like you_ , Mari had sneered at him, tongue out, when they’d argued over who would get the top bunk as kids. When their mother had separated them from the resulting scuffle, she’d wiped away his tears and cooed to him gently after giving Mari a firm scolding. _I think you’d like the bottom bunk, Yuuri. You won’t have to worry about falling out, will you?_

Yuuri had gained a deep fear of falling out of bed after that incident.

The bed above him creaks and he hears a shuffle of bed sheets. Yuuri wonders what time it is, and also for the thousandth time whether he would die if the top bunk gave way and landed on top of him.

He really hates bunk beds.

“Phichit?” he calls, voice low.

There’s no reply.

Yuuri sits up in bed, pats around for his water bottle on the ground and drinks half of it in one go. He’s only got a slight headache. He’s glad he didn’t go too far with the alcohol last night.

Yuuri gets up to use the bathroom, and after checking the time he decides there’s no use going back to sleep. He remembers Phichit mentioning that he has late lectures today so he lets him sleep, switching on his bedside lamp and settling on top of his duvet cross-legged.

He decides to flip through one of his portfolios, the same one that his director of studies, Mr Cialdini, will be looking through during their meeting in only a few hours. Yuuri feels the anxiety rise in his chest and he pushes it down, _down_ , trying to breathe in and out as if nothing is wrong.

Another rustle of sheets, another creak. In the corner, one of Phichit’s hamsters squeaks in its cage.

“…Yuuri?” Phichit croaks from the top bunk.

“Good morning,” Yuuri says to the mattress above his head. “I hope I didn’t wake you.”

“Nah.” He’s still half asleep.

“Thanks for yesterday.”

“It’s no problem, brah.” A yawn. “You have to see a drag show at least once you know? Safiya told me about La Maison, the one we went to last night.”  He’s distracted. From the bluish light illuminating the ceiling Yuuri can tell that he’s on his phone now, probably scrolling through Instagram or something. “She’s Alex’s girlfriend, remember?”

“Mmm.” Yuuri doesn’t remember. “Can we go again sometime?”

Yuuri jumps when Phichit’s face appears to his right. He’s hanging off the bed, head dangling right in his line of sight.

“Phichit, don’t do that!” he gasps.

“You want to? I’m totally up for it you know.” His friend’s lips pull into a goofy smile. “I used to go to them all the time with my sister, you know. Back in Bangkok.”

Yuuri laughs. “Phichit, is this all just because you're homesick?”

He pokes Phichit in the cheek. His friend’s face is slowly turning red, but he thinks it’s less embarrassment and more the effects of gravity.

“I mean, kinda? Aren’t you?” Phichit interrupts himself with a gasp. He lets his arms swing free below his head. “I know! Maybe we should try it! Drag! You’re totally into that gender mind fuck stuff, aren’t you?”

“I think you need to get out of that position, Phichit. All of the blood is rushing to your head.”

“Don’t be stupid, I’m fine!“ Phichit draws out the last word until he’s sliding down, out of the bed and onto the floor with a thud and a loud squawk .

“I think you’d make a very pretty lady, Yuuri,” Phichit continues, winded. "Ow! Hey--stop throwing pillows at me!"

 

* * *

 

 

“You need to make it more personal, Yuuri.”

“What?”

Mr Cialdini flips through to another page.

“I’m surprised,” he continues, “because usually I have to tell my third years to do the opposite. Most of them start the year wanting to throw everything they have into it, but you haven’t done that. I have to remind them to take inspiration from artist studies, historical pieces, or real life.”

He taps one particular sketch.

“When I look at your work I see nothing but this. None of this shows me ‘Yuuri’. Do you know what I mean?”

Yuuri stares at the page. He remembers how many hours it had taken him to research for that sketch, to make sure that the lines were crisp and polished and exactly what the department would have expected of him.

“I…I think so,” he mumbles.

“Be more creative. Try and remember why you applied for this course! I think this is a time for some introspection,” Mr Cialdini says, and pauses to give Yuuri a chance to speak. When he doesn’t, he takes a sip of coffee. “Why don’t you try sketching? It doesn’t have to be landscapes or people, anything you like.”

“Do you have any suggestions?”

Mr Cialdini gives him a pitying look.

“I can’t tell you what to draw, Yuuri. That’s part of the process.” He closes the portfolio and pushes it back across the table to Yuuri. “I’m expecting to see some of these sketches in our meeting at the end of term, so keep it clean OK?”

He’s smiling, but Yuuri doesn’t smile back. The meeting had turned out exactly how he’d expected it to. He doesn’t want to be here anymore.

“Um, sorry. Yes... I will bring some sketches next time.”

The director’s bushy brows furrow in disapproval and he tuts at him fondly.

“Don’t apologise. I’m not saying your work is bad. I’m giving you guidance to help you reach your full potential.” He nods, more to himself than to Yuuri. “Fashion Design is a tough course, but I have faith that you will perform excellently this year.”

Yuuri nods slowly.  “Okay.”

He pulls the portfolio to his chest, mumbles his thanks, and stumbles out of the room as soon as it is polite to. Yuuri huffs out a big sigh as he shoves it back into his messenger bag and shuffles out of the building.

He won’t let this bring him down.

His shuffle turns into a walk, and then into a stride, and suddenly he’s barreling into his room and digging through the pile of mess on his desk for an empty sketchbook.

 

* * *

 

 

Later that day, Yuuri is nestled away in a far corner of the library. He’s just finished an essay and he has time to spare before he’s supposed to meet Phichit and his boyfriend for dinner, so it’s the perfect time to try out some sketching. Yuuri starts with the full intent of pouring his heart out onto the pages, but after drawing and erasing the same line three times, he decides to warm up with some observation sketches.

 _Be more creative,_ Mr Cialdini’s comment echoes in Yuuri’s ears. 

“This is too hard,” Yuuri says under his breath. He drops the pencil and presses his fists into his eyes.

_Try and remember why you applied for this course._

He was in his third year of an undergraduate degree in Business with Fashion Design. He’d chosen Business because he’d wanted to help his parents with the inn, and he’d chosen to study abroad because he'd always dreamed of it and the teachers at school had fed that dream, eager to have a student from their small town make their mark on the world. The fees were high, but his parents had constantly reassured him that they had savings, especially after Mari had announced that she didn’t want to go to college. _Detroit Business School is one of the best in the world! We’re so proud one of our own got in._ His father had clapped Yuuri hard on the back when he received his acceptance letter and his mother had made him an extra large helping of _katsudon_.

Fashion Design was supposed to be the fun part, the portion of his time here that Yuuri got to spend doing something he actually enjoyed. Yuuri wasn’t the kind of person that was especially good with words or numbers, despite achieving the high marks needed for his place at university. He liked to express things with his body and make things with his hands. That was why he’d taken up dance lessons as a kid and still danced today. It was why as a child he was always creating, helping his mother mend holes in the guests’ _jinbei_ and doodling in lessons.

When Yuuri and Mari were too young to help out with the inn, their mother would try to occupy them with arts and crafts projects in one of the banquet rooms. She'd cover the table in old newspaper, and their father would take their creations and display them around the inn with pride.

 _Yuuri-kun’s drawings are getting better,_ one of the regulars had called out to his mother one night, _you have a little Davinci living with you!_

Yuuri tries to remember the kinds of things he drew for fun when he was a kid. There had been the things that everyone drew: his favourite characters from the morning cartoons, his family, dreams of having a dog…

He would flick through teen magazines with Yuuko after dance practice sometimes. He’d go back to her house for dinner, and afterwards they would sit at the table drawing the models’ fancy outfits and pretty hair. Sometimes they’d read the _shoujo_ manga that she kept in her room, and they would giggle together and copy the characters out too, colouring them in with the nice pencils that Yuuko had been given for her birthday. _Mari never does things like this_ , he’d whine to Yuuko.

When Yuuri grew older, he’d go to a _konbini_ on his way back from school and allow himself to peek at the fashion and beauty magazines, nervously looking over his shoulder to make sure no one was watching. Before bed Yuuri would take out his sketchbook and copy out what he could remember onto the pages.

In high school he joined the art club, and during the cultural festivals Yuuri would always volunteer to help his classmates with their costumes or paint the backdrops for their plays. Focusing so closely on making sure each part of his creations was perfect brought him a joy that almost no other activity did.

He wants to make something beautiful, he realises. He loves beautiful things. That’s why he chose to study Fashion Design.

A figure flashes through his mind. The performer from last night. The last one in the show, with the flowing gown and the silky hair. The way Viktoriya Lyubova had moved had been absolutely captivating.

He thinks it might be fun to draw her.

Yuuri reaches for his pencil.

 

* * *

 

 

The next few days pass in a blur of libraries, assignments and his part-time job. Yuuri feels warm and fuzzy one evening after eating dinner, so when he staggers into the bedroom of his and Phichit’s apartment he collapses onto his bed and falls asleep immediately.

He’s woken up by a jingle of keys and the sound of someone entering the front door.

“Yuuri!” Phichit’s voice calls faintly outside the bedroom. He listens as the door to their room creaks open.

“Yuuri,” Phichit calls softly. “Yuuri, wake up!” He pokes Yuuri in the side.

Reluctantly, he opens his eyes into slits.

Phichit’s standing over with him with a laptop bag on his shoulder and looking rather cheerful.

“Sorry for waking you up,” Phichit apologises, not sounding apologetic at all. “You told me to wake you up if you take naps, remember?”

“Oh. Thanks,” Yuuri croaks. He sits up slowly, feeling each of his joints creak like he has the body of an old man. He runs his fingers through his newly acquired bedhead.

Phichit’s right. Yuuri is a chronic oversleeper, and since the start of junior year he’d decided to try and sort himself out.

“You doing anything tomorrow lunch?” Phichit asks, perching on the bed next to him.

When Yuuri shakes his head, he looks relieved.

“I kind of already made plans for both of us,” Phichit says. He looks a little sheepish, but immediately brightens up. “I’m going to introduce you to these really cool guys I just met!”

It takes Yuuri’s sleep-addled brain a few seconds to come up with a reply. “Okay,” he says.

Yuuri shuffles to the dresser to find some pyjamas. He decides he’s going to go back to sleep as soon as possible.

“I just ran into one of them now. Oh, I know you’re gonna _love_ them!” Phichit continues to chatter as Yuuri pulls off his t-shirt and pulls on a slightly rattier one that he has designated for sleeping purposes only.  “...I haven’t met Chris’ friend, but I’m sure he’s nice too. I’m going to text him and ask him if he knows a good place--”

“This isn’t going to be like the time you tried to set me up with Iris, right?” Yuuri cuts in. “I can’t do that again. I think I’ll die.”

“You won’t have to. It’ll never happen again,” Phichit says solemnly.

His lip starts twitching upwards, and Yuuri stares at him. “Don’t worry!" he assures him. "Never again!”

When Yuuri continues to stare, Phichit rolls his eyes. “Oh come on, I already promised you I wasn’t going to do it again.”

“You did?” Yuuri pushes his t-shirt drawer back into the dresser with a little more force than necessary. “I don’t remember that.”

When he turns back, Phichit’s eyes are wide are wide and shiny and his bottom lip is quivering a little.

“Never again,” Phichit says weakly. “I am _so_ sorry that happened Yuuri, I didn’t realise that she’d try to--”

“No!” Yuuri interrupts. “Nope. Don’t want to relive it again. I know you like to tell everybody, but please spare me at least once.” He takes a long, shuddering breath. “It’s a part of my past now. I don’t want to relive it.”

In freshman year, Phichit had tried to set him up with one of his coursemates by inviting them both to a double date with Phichit’s now ex-girlfriend. Without Yuuri knowing it was a double date. And without Phichit knowing that Yuuri usually went for guys, or more importantly that he did not enjoy the idea of anyone using their big toe to stroke his inner thigh in the middle of Pizza Hut.

Overcome with emotion as the memories rush through him, Yuuri leans back onto his dresser, knocking the sketchbook he’d balanced on top to the floor.

It falls open to a page of poodles running and playing. He’d spotted a cute one on his way to lectures the other day.

“Oh!” Phichit chirps, all previous guilt forgotten. “You’ve been drawing? Let me see!”

Before he can react, Phichit pounces on it and quickly retreats into the safety of the bottom bunk. Yuuri watches helplessly as he opens it, cackling like a pirate opening a treasure chest.

“Oooh,” Phichit says in a tone that Yuuri takes immediately as mocking.

“Phichit,” he whines, stepping forward, “give it back.”

Those drawings were so rough that he’d only been planning for Mr Celestino to see them. Usually he only shows Phichit the designs for the big projects, just before he hands them in.

Phichit whistles. “This is different from what you usually draw.”

He leans on the wall, rests the book on his knees and flicks lazily through the rest. Yuuri wonders when he will reach the most embarrassing part.

“Oh!” Phichit exclaims with delight. “Is this Viktoriya?”

Right about now, it seems. Yuuri feels his face grow warm.

“Yep.”

“Wow, I didn’t know you liked her that much! And you made all of these outfits for her…” Phichit turns the book towards him so he can see the pages as if Yuuri hasn’t already stared at these drawings for hours. “With annotations too!”

“It’s an assignment. Of course I’m making notes,” Yuuri lies. He’d just gotten a bit too carried away so he’d made a lot more than he’d probably need Mr Celestino to see. 

“Gosh Yuuri, I can’t believe you’re drawing fanart.”

“No I’m not.”

“Yuuri’s drawing fanart, Yuuri’s drawing fanart, Yuuri’s drawing fanart!” Phichit sings happily, holding the sketchbook to his chest and kicking his legs in the air.

“No I’m _not!”_ Yuuri splutters, taking another step forward. His face heats up even more.

“Wow, since when did you become such a nerd?”

When Yuuri lunges forward to swipe for the book, Phichit gasps dramatically and dodges away.

“I was always a nerd,” grumbles Yuuri, stepping back. He is immediately tutted at.

“No you weren’t,” Phichit says matter-of-factly. “You were a jock, before.”

“What kind of… What are you even talking about?”  

He’s a nerd. He’s always been a nerd.

Phichit sighs, and strokes the cover of his sketchbook. It reminds Yuuri of Dr Cialdini, in a way.

“It’s just simple common sense. You never read, you eat lots, you like exercise. Doesn’t matter that you have glasses. It’s the twenty-first century! Jocks can have glasses!”

“That’s ridiculous,” Yuuri says hotly. Jocks don’t get anxiety, and Phichit reads even less than him.

Phichit’s looking down at the sketchbook again. Here’s his chance.

He launches himself onto the bed and tries to wrestle it free from his friend’s grip. Phichit giggles uncontrollably as they roll together until he pokes Yuuri in the side with an elbow and wriggles free. Yuuri tries to swipe for the book again. Phichit jolts back and hits his head on one of the bedposts, hard.

He hisses, holding the back of his head tenderly and scrunching up his face in pain. Yuuri snorts, and tugs the sketchbook out of Phichit’s now limp hand.

“Now who’s the one laughing,” he mutters.

“Nerd Yuuri is so mean,” Phichit moans pitifully as he flops back down on Yuuri’s bed.

Yuuri sits on the edge and opens the book again, Phichit’s legs finding their way onto his lap. He rests the book on Phichit’s shins and flicks through to the drawings of Viktoriya again, just to remind himself.  A hand enters Yuuri’s vision and taps a sketch of a red and gold dress.

“That’s my favourite,” Phichit says, sitting upright now. “And you know who’d like that too? The guys we’re meeting tomorrow! You should totally bring it.”

Yuuri shakes his head. “These are just rough sketches. I don’t think they’d enjoy it that much.”

“No, really!” Phichit insists. “They love art! Trust me.”

“I don’t trust you at all, Phichit.”

Phichit shrugs and snuggles back into Yuuri’s pile of blankets. “Fair enough.”

 

* * *

 

 

Phichit’s friends are hot. Really hot.

As he watches the two men weave their way through the tables of the rustic-chic farm-to-fork restaurant, the image he'd invented in his head of two bearded hipsters in glasses and flannels is shattered. They're well manicured and casually dressed but chic, both wearing modern clothing cut to hug their bodies well -- especially the taller of the two.

The taller man sits down opposite Phichit and winks when Yuuri meets his eyes. Yuuri blinks back at him, wondering whether he’d imagined it. His hair is bleached blonde with dark roots just beginning to grow back in, and his chin and upper lip are covered in neatly trimmed stubble.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Christophe Giacometti,” the man says. His voice is low and sultry, a tone that Yuuri thinks is highly inappropriate for their casual gathering. _Unless it’s a double date_ , he thinks, glaring at Phichit who is too busy beaming at Christophe to notice.

The other man sits in front of him. Yuuri gapes.

If this  _is_ a double date he’s out of Yuuri’s league by a long shot.

“I’m Viktor,” says Mr Out-of-Yuuri’s-League after adjusting the expensive looking jacket hanging on the back of his seat.  “Nice to meet you."

Viktor looks slim but strong, with the kind of face that Yuuri thinks should be splashed across the covers of fashion magazines. His platinum blond hair is delicately coiffed, his fringe side swept and carefree as if perpetually flittering away in a cool sea breeze.

He holds out his hand for Yuuri and Phichit to shake. Yuuri finds his grip on Viktor's hand lingering just a second longer than it probably should, and upon releasing it, Viktor gives Yuuri a charming grin that has him swooning like a nineteenth century English woman with a case of the vapours.

After Yuuri recovers and he and Phichit introduce themselves, a waitress arrives at their table almost immediately.

"Hi guys, welcome to Pandorica,” she says brightly. She’s carrying four empty mason jars on a tray, which she sets down in front of each of them.

Her black crew neck top shows off a full sleeve of inky green tattoos, and her dirty blonde hair is tied into an artfully messy bun. Her name tag reads 'BILLIE'. She looks as if she fits right into this place, surrounded by reclaimed furniture and neatly arranged sheaves of wheat.

When she finishes, she claps her hand against the empty tray. “I’ll come back in a few minutes to take your orders.”

"No, it's fine," Viktor says smoothly. He hasn't even opened his menu yet. "I already know what I'd like to order. Do you still have the organic artichoke balls?"

The waitress blinks, taken aback. She takes a small notebook and pen from her jeans pocket. "Y-yes, I'll put you down for one of those. Would you like salad or fries?"

"Salad please, and hold the dressing."

The waitress nods and scribbles it down in her notebook. Chris shifts forwards, shooting her a dazzling smile.

"The hand-pulled corn frittata, please, with salad," Chris drawls and flutters his eyelashes. His menu also remains closed.

"Uh--yes. Okay," the waitress says. She avoids any further eye contact with Chris, looking to Phichit instead. "What are you having?"

"Avocado toast pizza," Phichit announces proudly. "With fries, please!"

"Of course! That's one's really popular." The waitress smiles pleasantly and jots both of the orders down, giving Yuuri a few more precious seconds to decide what he wants. "And you?" she says, turning to him.

Yuuri glares at his menu. It's long, and he thinks he'd struggle to pronounce even half of the words on the first page. He flicks to the 'Bread' section.

"...Grilled cheese?" he tries. They're the only two words that jump out at him. He hopes the others won't judge him too much.

"The muenster and sauerkraut melt on blistered sourdough?" she clarifies.

Yuuri nods uneasily.  

She takes their menus and returns with a jug of filtered water.

“Sorry that we're so late,” Chris apologises. “Viktor forgot his coat."

“I didn’t forget,” Viktor huffs. “I only brought it because you made me. It isn’t cold enough for coats yet. It’s a lot colder in--”

“Russia, yes, yes, we know you don’t have nerve endings over there,” Chris says with a roll of his eyes. Viktor rolls his eyes back. Yuuri watches the exchange in alarm.

“Come on now, don’t fight,” Phichit tuts. “We’re having a nice family meal!”

Chris pats Viktor’s shoulder. “But if my Viktor’s going to grow up to be a well-adjusted adult, he needs to be disciplined sometimes. Isn’t that right, Viktor?”

Viktor raises his eyebrows but stays silent. They’re plucked to perfection, which makes Yuuri feel self-conscious about his own bushy brows.

Phichit grins and slings an arm around Yuuri. “Oh, you’re a parent too? Yuuri is a handful as well! So glad I have someone who understands.”

When Phichit and Christophe laugh together for a moment, he realises why Phichit likes Chris so much. They’re just as bad as each other. Phichit starts to talk about the latest episode of one of his tv shows, and Yuuri is so disinterested that he decides to focus on slowly and precisely pouring water out into each of their mason jars instead.

“Thanks,” says Viktor, a few moments after Yuuri fills his glass.

Yuuri looks up. Viktor is sitting right in front of him, of course.

Yuuri guesses he doesn’t really want to be here. He’d watched him pour out the water in silence with an oddly blank expression on his face, and he isn’t paying attention to Phichit’s and Chris’ conversation in the slightest.

When Yuuri meets his eyes, Viktor puts on a smile. It makes the skin around his eyes crinkle a little bit, and Yuuri thinks it’s adorable.

“No problem,” Yuuri says. He winces at the way his voice cracks a little.

Viktor smiles again. He takes a sip of water and averts his gaze, scanning the restaurant with the disinterest of someone who has been here a thousand times. It wouldn’t surprise Yuuri if it was true either, as apparently he and Chris had chosen this restaurant.

“So, uh, what do you study?” Yuuri asks. He wants to make some kind of impression on Viktor, at least. Even Yuuri wouldn’t feel comfortable sitting in complete silence.

Viktor's fingers twitch around his water glass. The skin around his eyes smooths out, but the smile stays firmly stuck to his face.

“I’m finishing up my MBA this year,” Viktor says neutrally.

“So you’re a graduate student.”

He nods, but doesn’t elaborate. Viktor's eyes look far away as he takes a sip of water and begins fiddling with the edge of the placemat, rolling and unrolling one of the corners between his fingertips.

For a few long moments, there is a pause in which Yuuri struggles to come up with something to say. He doesn't blame Viktor for not responding energetically to his attempts at conversation. Heck, Yuuri's even boring himself right now.

"Um," he says.

Chris catches his eye and seems to notice Yuuri's desperation. When he glances at Viktor, he laughs.

"Are you and Viktor getting along?" Chris teases. Phichit watches their exchange, amused. "Sorry about him, he can be a bit intense sometimes."

Viktor doesn’t respond.

“Viktor,” Chris says, firm.

Viktor jolts. He blinks at the three people staring at him from across the table and straightens up a little.

“Oh! Yes, sorry,” Viktor mumbles. “Um, yes. What are we talking about?”

Chris rolls his eyes. “Again, sorry. He had a late night.”

Viktor nods mutely.

“I guess even graduates get tired too,” Yuuri says in a way that he hopes is light-hearted and reassuring.

Viktor laughs through his nose. His shoulders slump and he sits back in his seat.

“It’s been a tough week,” he says, finally. “Sorry for spacing out, Yuuri. I do that sometimes. Let me get myself together for a moment.”

He pats his cheeks firmly, scrunches his nose a little and closes his eyes tightly. Viktor keeps them shut for a few seconds and blinks hard. Then he grins.

“Good as new,” Viktor says, and winks. It’s so charming that Yuuri feels himself begin to blush. “We haven’t really finished introductions yet, have we?”

Yuuri nods and drags his eyes away from Viktor to offer Chris half a smile. “We were just talking about what we’re studying.”

Chris’s gaze flicks to Viktor briefly before he smiles widely. “It’s good to get the small talk out of the way, I suppose.”

Yuuri nods.

“I’m a politics major,” Chris offers.

“I’m majoring in computer science,” says Phichit.

“Ugh,” says Viktor, aghast. “That sounds awful.”

Phichit laughs loudly. “I would argue, but you know what? It kind of is.”

Their food arrives. Yuuri is distracted when the waitress sets his food down on the table, so when he finally looks down he almost does a double take.

His grilled cheese is sitting, neatly quartered, in the middle of a dustpan.

“Where are the plates?” Yuuri asks, alarmed.

“Who needs plates?” Viktor says. A miniature shovel full of artichoke balls is set in front of him.

Yuuri makes a face.

Chris finishes pouring a test tube of vinaigrette over his side salad and places it back in its rack. “We’ve forgotten you, Yuuri,” he says.

“Me?” Yuuri asks, alarmed.

Chris picks up a fork and twiddles it in his fingers. “Yep. What do you study?”

“Oh, um, Business, actually. And I’m minoring in fashion design.”

Viktor’s mouth opens in an ‘o’ shape.

“Fashion design,” Chris repeats, surprised. “I wouldn’t peg you to study something like that.”

Yuuri laughs nervously. “I can see why you’d say that.” He likes designing clothing and making art, but he doesn’t really see the point in wasting time to apply it to himself. It’s about enhancing beauty after all, and Yuuri doesn’t have much of that.

Yuuri quirks his lips up into a small smile. “The business is really to help out with my family’s business. The fashion part makes it bearable.”

He’s proud that the joke gets a laugh from everyone.

“He’s great at the fashion part though,” Phichit says. “I’ve never met anyone who can come up with ideas just like,” Phichit snaps his fingers, “ _that!_ ”

It earns an “Ooh,” from Viktor and Chris, and Yuuri feels himself blushing again.

“Yuuri, do you have your sketchbook on you right now?” Phichit asks sweetly.

Yuuri pauses. He watches his roommate innocently nibble a slice of pizza.

“I do,” he says slowly. “It’s in my bag.”

He’d been planning to do more sketching this afternoon. He’d told Phichit about it this morning.

“Oh, are we going to see some of your designs?” Chris asks.

“I can’t wait,” Viktor says brightly.

Yuuri hesitates. He’d shown it to Phichit already, but these two are complete strangers. But if they like Phichit, and Phichit likes them, shouldn’t he be able to trust them?

“Can we Yuuri?” Phichit begs. “Please?”

“Well--okay. But only a bit. They’re not very good.”

He slips the book out of his bag and flicks through it quickly, angling it away from Viktor and Chris’ eager faces. Yuuri decides that the poodle drawings are the probably the least embarrassing.

Phichit pushes aside the jug of water to give Yuuri enough space to place it in the centre and Yuuri plonks it down before shoving his hands into his lap and balling them into fists. They all lean over to peer at the collection of tiny prancing dogs - Yuuri included, because he’s worried that his choice of poodles had been a brief lapse in judgement.

“Wow,” Chris says. Yuuri wonders if he’s faking it. He blushes anyway.

“Thanks,” he says.

“So cute,” Viktor coos. “Poodles are the best dog!”

“Heh,” Yuuri says. Suddenly he doesn’t know what to do with his hands.

Chris’ hand moves to turn the page, but it stops in mid-air. “Can we?” he asks.

Yuuri nods mutely. It’s mostly fanart, but it’s not like they’ll recognise it. He’d rather let Chris and Viktor flip through the book than try to make any more disastrous attempts at small talk.

Chris turns the page, and Viktor subtly pulls the book towards them.

They freeze.

A quick glance tells Yuuri that they’d skipped right to the Viktoriya section. Phichit looks absolutely thrilled.

“That’s, um,” Yuuri tries to give an informative commentary, just like he’ll have to give to Dr Cialdini at the end of the semester, “those are just some experiments I, uh, have been trying out? Some designs?”

Chris and Viktor are staring at the pages intensely, Chris’ face frozen into a mildly surprised expression, and Viktor’s brows scrunching together, marring his flawless forehead with one solitary wrinkle.

"These are--" Viktor cuts himself off, face smoothing out into something that Yuuri doesn’t know how to interpret.

Whatever is happening, Phichit is loving it. He squirms around in his seat and tries to not-so-subtly glance at Yuuri’s face.

“Aw, Yuuri,” Chris says, charmed. He places a hand on his heart. “You drew fanart!”

If Yuuri’s brain were a building, the fire alarm would be ringing, and all of the occupants would be in the process of filing out in neat, efficient lines.

“What,” he says.

“So, so amazing, right?” Phichit gushes.

Viktor is quiet once more. He’s still looking through the sketches one by one, and when he pauses on one page Yuuri viciously fights down an urge to snatch the book away and hide it in his bag.

“Uh,” Yuuri stutters, trying to make sense of what is going on, “uh, so--Viktor. Do you--do you like it?”

Viktor nods. Slowly, his mouth stretches into a broad smile, something more radiant and genuine than anything he’d offered before.

Oh. That makes Yuuri happy. The drawings are fine.  Everything’s fine after all.

Yuuri takes a deep breath.

“Oh my God,” Viktor whispers. His eyes are suddenly shiny.

Suddenly the hypothetical fire alarm is ringing louder than ever, and Yuuri starts to lose grip on his shaky sense of calm. Why is Viktor crying? Is he going to start crying? Is it because it’s bad? Is it insulting? Are--heaven forbid--his designs even worse than Yuuri thought?

“You drew these?” Viktor asks.

Yuuri shrinks back a little. He nods.

Viktor cheeks turn bright pink. Before Yuuri can ask him not to, he begins to flip even faster through the book.

“You drew all of these as well!” Viktor says very loudly when he reaches where the drawing ends and the empty pages begin. To Yuuri’s alarm, he giggles.

Yuuri can understand that his designs really are laughably bad sometimes, but this is just mean.

“...Yeah,” Yuuri says, feeling a little defeated. “I drew those.”

“Chris, look!” Viktor stabs his finger at a sketch of Viktoriya Lyubova. “That’s my dress! That’s me in my dress!”

“Huh?” Yuuri says. Viktor’s gawking at him like he’s got something weird stuck to his face, and it’s making him feel a little uncomfortable.

“I know,” Chris says, amused, “and it looks like he got your forehead right, so it’s professional stuff.”

"Yuuri," Viktor says eagerly. "You have to make one of these for me. You have to!"

Yuuri looks at Phichit to confirm that he is not going crazy. Phichit doesn’t say anything. He’s busy taking a long, long sip from his mason jar.

"I'll pay you for the designs at least," Viktor continues, pulling a leather wallet out of his pocket and fingering through a healthy amount of dollar bills.

"Wait, wait, wait!" Yuuri cuts in, even more confused. "You want me to make a dress?"

"Because you designed it for me, of course. And it's perfect!"

Yuuri stares at him wordlessly. "...For you? Um, but it's not? Not for you, I mean."

Viktor frowns, and Yuuri's heart drops. Chris shifts a little in his seat, eyeing Yuuri carefully.

"You drew Viktoriya," Chris says slowly.

"...Viktoriya Lyubova? Uh, yeah. Wow. You recognised her?" Yuuri falters when Chris’ face pulls into a very strange expression. "I... I liked her performance so I drew her."

"Yuuri," Viktor says, "you do know that I'm her, right?"

"You're--what?"

Then all of a sudden, Chris bursts into laughter. "Phichit, you're so evil!" he cackles. “He doesn’t know?”

“Know what?” Yuuri asks.

“He doesn’t know!” Phichit says with an equal amount of glee. Chris laughs even harder and bangs the table with one hand, causing his mason jar to rattle noisily across the table.

"What don't I know," Yuuri deadpans.

“Yuuri,” Viktor says kindly, “I’m a drag queen.”

Yuuri stills. He blinks. He straightens up in his seat, and stares at the handsome man in front of him.

 

_You do know that I’m her, right?_

 

_….I’m her, right?_

 

_Her?!_

 

“Oh, I guess I forgot to tell you!” Phichit sings and claps his hands down on Yuuri’s shoulders, startling him into almost kicking Viktor under the table. “We’ve met these two before!”

That can't be true. Yuuri feels like he’d remember seeing someone like Viktor. He looks at Viktor closely. Nope. Never seen a man that handsome in his life. That's what he'd thought as soon as he'd seen him walk in. It’s not true at all.

"I'm Viktoriya Lyubova. That's my drag name," Viktor says, as if it’s completely normal that Yuuri had seen him all dolled up on stage in a wig and dress a little over a week ago.

Yuuri is not sure what the expression is on his face right now, but he tries very hard to school it into something more human. He swallows, his mouth suddenly very dry.

"...You?"

Viktor covers his mouth with his hand, smothering a giggle. He nods.

Yuuri stares down at the table, overwhelmed by the feeling that his brain is turning into mush. What does this mean? Viktor is Viktoriya. What does that mean again?

"So... you're Viktoriya Lyubova,” he repeats.

Viktor nods again, smiling.

"And you are… are you...” Yuuri sighs, and gestures weakly at Chris, “are you someone too?”

Chris’ eyebrows shoot up. “Someone? Of course I’m someone. I’m Lady Messterpants!”

“Ugh,” Yuuri says aloud without meaning to.

“You couldn’t tell?” Viktor asks.

Chris starts cracking up again, and Phichit joins him.

He looks at their wide shoulders and their haircuts, the scruff on Chris' chin and the shape of their faces. He imagines what Viktor and Chris would look like in a wig and makeup.

It's them. It's totally them.

“Ugh.”

Chris is wiping away tears. “The only thing I have to say, Yuuri, is that I’m a bit disappointed I didn’t get my own fanart. I put so many cans of hairspray into that wig!”

“No matter,” Viktor says cheerfully, “I’m sure Yuuri will draw you some if you pay him. Just like how I’m going to pay him for these dresses!”

Yuuri is still trying to come to terms with the fact that words like that are coming from Viktor’s mouth. Yuuri’s made dresses before. He’s made lots of dresses. They’re some of his favourite things to make. But he hadn’t really thought about making the dresses he’d drawn for Viktoriya. They’d be tricky and unrealistic for someone of his level to create. Yuuri had just wanted to have fun with the drawings, pouring in all of his heart and passion just like Dr Celestino had told him to.

And Viktor had seen all of that. Yuuri lets out a long and pained groan.

“Phichit, it was mean of you to not tell him who we were,” Viktor scolds his friend playfully.

"It's was a surprise!" Phichit squawks. "It's a surprise, Yuuri! I wanted to give you another birthday present. You like it right?"

Phichit’s grin is blinding. Yuuri looks away. Viktor and Chris know that he drew Viktor in his free time. They’re still holding the evidence in his hands. They probably think he’s such a creep, and they’re probably right.

Yuuri feels his eyes water in shame. Even if he hadn’t known he’d meet Viktoriya in real life, he shouldn’t have drawn her without his permission.

“Yuuri?” Phichit’s hand is on his forearm, and he’s frowning.

Yuuri takes a deep, shaky breath, trying to prevent himself from going into a full-blown panic. The sketchbook is still clutched tightly in Viktor’s hands. Yuuri needs to get it back immediately so he can burn it and no one can ever see his humiliation ever again.

“Well _I_ like being your present, Yuuri,” he hears Chris say quickly. “And Viktor obviously loves it. It’s been really great meeting you, and I’m so happy you came to see our show.”

Viktor nods vigorously. “Thank you for coming, and for showing me this!” He waves the sketchbook in the air. “You're so talented, Yuuri! Can I ask you a question about one of your designs?"

Yuuri can't help but feel like he's mocking him. Viktor is still smiling as bright as anything when he opens the book and turns it around so Yuuri can see.

“This one here, do you think it’s possible to make this into a full-length gown? I know the _best_ song I could perform with this.”

Yuuri can’t bring himself to look at which dress he is pointing to. His eyes remain glued to the half-eaten sandwich in front of him.

“Please give it back,” Yuuri croaks. He hopes he's not coming across as rude, but it’s the only thing that’s on his mind. He’s still not looking him in the eyes.

There’s a pause, and it feels so much worse than before.

“Oh,” is all Viktor says.

“Come on Vik, give it back. He looks like he’s going to faint.” Chris laughs nervously.

Viktor clears his throat. “Oh, yes, sorry. Here’s the book--Yuuri?”

Yuuri finally looks up. Viktor’s face is no longer beaming, and the wrinkle in his brow is back. He passes the book back to Yuuri, looking extremely sheepish.

Phichit’s hand is still on his arm, and he feels a squeeze from his friend before he’s released.

Yuuri shoves the book into his bag and finally, finally, he feels like he can relax again. Yuuri shuts his eyes briefly, trying to centre himself.

“You okay, Yuuri?” Phichit asks, sounding a little guilty.

Yuuri nods. They’ll talk about this later. Chris and Viktor watch this exchange in silence.

“I guess,” Viktor starts, and shuffles a little in his chair, “I guess I was a little too intense after all.”

He coughs lightly and takes a drink of water, once again finding his placemat intensely interesting when Yuuri doesn’t immediately laugh and tell him not to worry about it.

Besides the unease sloshing around in Yuuri's gut, the rest of their meal is relatively uneventful.

Phichit and Chris continue their animated conversation. Yuuri says almost nothing and mechanically feeds himself his sandwich. Viktor chips in every now and then, and every so often Yuuri looks up and catches Viktor staring at him.

Viktor argues with Phichit and Chris over who should pay and ends the argument by quietly slipping a credit card to the waitress when the other two aren't looking. Yuuri would pay the entire bill himself if it meant he could get out of this restaurant more quickly.

When they stand to leave, Yuuri mutely zips up his parka and steps away from the table, watching as Phichit shrugs on his enormous winter coat.

"This was fun," Phichit says.

"It was," Chris says.

"Yes, we should have you guys over for drinks sometime," Viktor suggests. He’s subdued, and when he turns to Yuuri he gives him a tentative smile. “I promise I won’t make you bring your sketchbook. You come too?”

Hell no. Yuuri doesn't want to see these two ever again.

The corner of Yuuri's mouth twitches upwards into the best attempt he can make at a smile at this current point in time.

"Um, yeah. Sure."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next time: an argument, a party and an invitation
> 
> pls tell me what you think! :)
> 
>  [my tumblr](http://friendodo.tumblr.com)

**Author's Note:**

> Next up: Yuuri meets Phichit's new friends and has a nasty shock.
> 
> your comments give me fuel to write ahead! also what is a beta. lol. 
> 
> do not worry, the next chapter is a lot more structured!! come and bug me over on [my tumblr](http://friendodo.tumblr.com/)


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